


Auld Lang Syne

by Dadbeat



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst and Feels, Brooding, Drinking to Cope, Gen, M/M, Sad, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, WoL is not ok, Written with my mWoL in mind but works for generic mWoL too I guess, mostly canon-compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:01:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22077373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dadbeat/pseuds/Dadbeat
Summary: The end of one year and the start of another.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Auld Lang Syne

There is no sleeping tonight, not in Limsa, even if he had been able to. The sky alights with fireworks as shanties echo down the alleys, the raucous denizens celebrating the end of the old and start of the new.

An empty bottle dangles from between thin fingers, and dimly he wonders when it had become empty - was it not full just a moment before? Lips pursing, he lets it drop, the thick glass clattering against the flagstones as it splinters. 

Too apt, he thinks. Empty, broken. Thrown against twelve-knows-what to be chewed up and spat back out at the whims of higher powers.

His trembling hand, now empty, pats his jacket before finding the telltale lump of a pipe. Leaning into the railing, he takes solace in the ritual of filling it with tobacco, of packing it down and testing its draw before igniting it with a spark of aether.

He could do so much more, once. So could everyone.

“What a fine mess,” he mutters, before taking a puff. Lungs fill and he closes his eyes against the dampness that threatens to drip down his cheeks.

“You laughed at me, when you saw me do this before.” He doesn’t bother with any fanciful rings or other tricks, just lets the smoke out in a hazy billow. “Went ‘Our esteemed Hero, savior of realms and collector of terrible habits!’ but then you snapped me up a box of my favorite cigars from the Source when I mentioned I missed them. I can’t smoke them, not anymore. Reminds me too much of you.” 

He quiets as a gaggle of extremely loud, extremely inebriated Yellowjackets and their companions for the night stumble by. They pay him no heed, too busy trying to find their way to an aetheryte, or to the inn.

“Whichever we manage to find first!” the Roegadyn in their midst slurs jovially. 

He cannot stop the envy that claws at his insides. 

_How easy they have it. How small their troubles are, compared to what I carry. To what_ **_you_ ** _carried._

“A lot of things remind me of you,” he admits. “That smell when it’s about to rain made the autumn storms unbearable. That’s what you smelled like - well, one of the things. There’s a lot, now they all hurt if I’m unfortunate enough to catch a whiff. And the warm feeling I get when I crack open a particularly good book - I think of how many books you must have read, over the years. Were there any good ones? Or were they all disappointing, like the rest of the world?”

The tears come freely now. He does not attempt to stop them.

“The latest thing was the worst, I think.” His face twists with grief. “When I went to Ishgard for Starlight, I thought about how cold it must have been in Ilsabard. Of how many Starlights you spent alone. How you probably didn’t even _celebrate_ Starlight - after all, what would there have been for you to celebrate? And now...”

His eyes lift to the sky, to the fireworks splashing light against the night’s ink.

“Now I think that the price I was made to pay, to ring in this new year, is nearly too terrible to comprehend. That each step that I take apart from you perhaps is not a step worth taking at all.”

“Not that I can say any of this aloud, not to anyone. Just to you. To my memory of you. Nobody else would understand - not even Ryne, though she tries. Bless her heart."

Lapsing into silence again, he nurses the pipe until the embers drop low, until its contents are nearly spent. Stands at the railing, elbows propped, back hunched (poor posture reminds him, too) as he mulls over what he’s done. How he lives surrounded by friends yet so completely alone, made to shoulder a burden he had never wanted. How he sees himself shoved forward while his gaze lingers behind at charred masonry and twisted metal and an endless parade of dead. 

He pushes himself off the railing, swaying slightly. He hopes Thubyrgeim won’t mind if he stays the night at the guild. There’s more liquor stashed there in one sort-of-his room, and he so badly needs another drink.

“Someone very wise once told me not to make any decisions that would leave me alone. I fear I’ve botched _that_ terribly. But I swear to you this - I will honor your wish. Because I cannot _help_ but remember you - you, and all of Amaurot. I only hope that it is enough.”

He turns, rubbing what remains of wetness and salt from his face, and starts down the road.

“Happy Heavensturn, Emet-Selch.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hey hello I don't normally post stuff here but I made a few people cry in discord so I guess it was pretty ok lksjdfjksdfj
> 
> Thanks to the Cornvocation for putting up with my constant shenanigans


End file.
